


We slip and slide as we fall in love

by blue_eyed



Category: The Martian - All Media Types, The Martian - Andy Weir
Genre: Eventual Relationships, Multi, Recovery, Slow Build, Touch-Starved, eating issues, eventual poly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-05-11 04:45:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5614384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_eyed/pseuds/blue_eyed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark gets off Mars. But what next?</p><p>Eventual Mark/Chris, Chris/Beth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, first wip. Got three chapters (including this one), basically finished, and an outline for the rest of the fic, so shouldn't be an issue. My aim is to finish by the end of the month. Not sure on the posting schedule yet, but will try to keep it regular.
> 
> Also, looking for a beta/cheerleader, contact me if you're interested :D
> 
> Tumblr: http://blueeyed0.tumblr.com/

Mark isn’t really doing enough of the sleeping thing, he’s pretty sure about that. The wind buffets the HAB, his canvas and duct tape repair job making a terrifying soundtrack to his - well -

he doesn’t have nightmares exactly, but he definitely wakes up shaking, cortisol going into overdrive. It leaves him hungry, craving sugar. He eats his potatoes, but no amount of telling himself his body will convert them to glucose makes him feel any better. He just wants something unhealthy; full sugar coke, melted cheese on literally anything. Chocolate.

He hums ‘Young Hearts Run Free’ as he continues Victor Frakensteining his rover. He tries not to think of the end goal; of leaving Mars, of seeing the rest of the crew.

He’s failing, but he’s trying at least.

~~~

Chris steps into the shower. He aches - his arms, his legs, his eyes - the kind of ache that no changing of position helps. They’d been battered by the storm and resulting rocky lift off and he knows he’s bruised. He’d treated a couple of scrapes on the Commander. She’d been quiet, her face tight and distant. Chris hadn’t said much either - there were no words to make this better, not really. Chris had his own guilt to deal with.

Chris starts washing, focusing his mind on just being clean. He has a nasty looking bruise on his stomach. He wonders where he got it from. The bio monitor, maybe? Either from the storm or the ascent to Hermes. _ <i>Focus on the wounds. Keep working.</i>  _Chris knows what he’s doing, he’s wise to his bullshit. He’s also happy to let himself get away with it for now. Thinking of Mark, mourning him, can wait for now. His crew needs him.

He dries off, puts on his uniform, and goes to see Johanssen. She hadn’t come for a checkup, so it’s time for a house call.

~~~

> JPL: Dr. Shields wants to speak to you, regular sessions so we can keep an eye on you.

 

Mark rolls his eyes. He knows why they want to do this, and he supposes it makes sense, but ugh. He does not want to talk about his feelings, especially not over computer. On the other hand, he got on well enough with Irene, and he wasn’t exactly in a position to turn down conversation.

 

> WATNEY: Sure

> JPL: We were expecting more pushback
> 
> WATNEY: I’m choosing my battles
> 
> JPL: Makes sense. We’ll set up the first session tomorrow, 9AM your time.
> 
> WATNEY: I’ll be there 

~~~

Next morning, Mark made his way to the Rover, as promised, for 9AM. He just got comfortable, rolling the water bottle between his hands awkwardly, when the first message came through. 

 

> JPL: Good Morning, Mark
> 
> WATNEY: Morning, Irene. How’s Earth?
> 
> JPL: Sunny, thank you, Mark. How’s Mars?
> 
> WATNEY: Dusty. Cold.
> 
> JPL: Congratulations on surviving this long, Mark. It’s incredible. We’re all working as hard as we and to get you home.
> 
> WATNEY: Thanks
> 
> JPL: I want these sessions to be as helpful for you as possible, so I am happy to take some direction from you. Is there anything in particular you wish to talk about, or get from these sessions?

 

Mark drops his head in frustration. He really does not want to do this. But he also knows that NASA would just force him to, and frankly he wants their efforts on getting him home, not questioning his mental health.

 

> WATNEY: Not really? I miss talking to people
> 
> JPL: That’s only natural, Mark. What’s on your agenda for today?
> 
> WATNEY: I need to clear off the solar panels, check the water purifier, oxygenator, and then the crops. I may be ready for the second harvest soon.
> 
> JPL: Sounds good. You’re growing potatoes, right?
> 
> WATNEY: Yeah, you know any good recipes?
> 
> JPL: I hear they’re pretty good microwaved and dunked in Vicodin?
> 
> WATNEY: A Mark Watney original recipe! I slept well that night.
> 
> JPL: Don’t make a habit of it.
> 
> WATNEY: I know, I know. I wasn’t planning on doing it again.
> 
> WATNEY: Hey, how are the rest of the crew? NASA gonna tell them yet?

The answer takes a long time to come through, but at least it doesn’t make Mark want to punch things.

 

> JPL: We’re telling them soon - now we’ve got a plan we feel comfortable telling them without affecting their morale too much.
> 
> WATNEY: Finally. Let me talk to them
> 
> JPL: One thing at a time; be patient
> 
> WATNEY: Well I’ve got a few years of time of my hands.

 ~~~

Beck turns on the treadmill and runs. He stares at the wall, barely listening to his audiobook. The earphones are more so he would be left alone a little bit. He sets off at a pace slightly faster than a jog.

He can hear Mitch’s words in his mind <i>“Mark Watney’s still alive.”</i>. He knows objectively, they had made the right call - there was no way they could’ve known Mark would survive. But maybe he should’ve guessed? Mark was inventive, optimistic, and stubborn.

Chris shakes his head and turns up the speed of the treadmill. 

“Woah, where’s the fire?” Martinez walks into the gym.

Chris slows the treadmill down.

“Hey,” he says to Martinez, pulling out an earbud.

“You mind if I take a bike?”

“Go for it.”

“Crazy about Mark, right?” Martinez says, not even waiting to make it look like he’d come here for any other reason. Chris sighs.

“Yeah. If it was going to be anyone though...” He trails off.

“True that.” Martinez pauses as he starts peddling. “You think they’ll let us talk to him?”

“I hope so.” Chris has so much to apologise for. “Maybe. Be good for morale.”

“Yeah, for Mark, too.”

Chris stops the treadmill and steps down, taking a drink of water.

“Hey, are you okay?” Martinez asks, swinging off the bike to stand in front of him.

“Christ, you’re really unsubtle.”

Martinez doesn’t reply.

“I’m fine, okay? This sucks, for all of us, mostly Watney, but yeah. How are you?” Chris asks, belatedly realising maybe Martinez wanted to talk about this for his own comfort.

Martinez shrugs. “Like you said, sucks for everyone. It sucks that we only just found out - they should’ve told us earlier. It sucks that we’re stuck here, helpless. It sucks for the Commander, who ordered us to go. It sucks for you, man.”

“I said he was dead,” Chris says, shaking his head. “I should’ve known he’d be too pig headed to die.”

Martinez laughs quietly. “That’s not what I meant, man. You and Mark are tight.”

There’s plausible deniability there, and Chris knows he could just act like they were friends and nothing more. Martinez wouldn’t mind, because Martinez was the most easy going man Chris has ever met.

“Yeah,” Chris says, hoping his face and voice isn’t giving too much away. Martinez’ eyes go soft and Chris wants to kick himself. “We’re - close.”

“We’ll get him back, man.” Martinez claps him on the shoulder. Chris nods and steps back. Martinez gets back on the bike, like he hadn’t just emotionally sucker punched him. Chris leaves the gym.

~~~ 

 

> JPL: We’d like you to write to the crew of Hermes. It would be good for you to talk to each other prior to coming home and meeting them again.

Mark has no idea how to respond to that. He misses the crew so much he tries not to think about it; it results in an ache in his chest that leaves him a little winded. Though he’d asked to speak to them, he hadn’t held out much hope it would happen any time soon.

> WATNEY: I’d like that. I wasn’t happy it took so long for them to find out I was alive.  
> 
> JPL: You send the letters and we’ll pass them on.
> 
> JPL: I think we’ll leave it here for today. Same time again the day after tomorrow? IF you need me sooner, just ask for me, I’m on call for you.
> 
> WATNEY: I’ll be here. Thanks.

> JPL: Handing over to JPL now, talk soon Mark
> 
> WATNEY: Later

 

Mark starts to write letters in his head as he cleared off the solar panels. He’ll start with Lewis - she must be blaming herself for this, letting it eat her alive. Mark’s letter probably won’t help it but it’s worth a shot.

“Dear Commander,” he starts, as he checks his potatoes. 

~~~

Chris looks up when his door knocks.

“Come in,” he calls.

“Maildump,” Johanssen says as she walks in. She’s got her hands hidden in the sleeves of her sweater. “We got letters, from Mark.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. NASA want him to write to us all, individually.”

Chris nods. “Makes sense. You read yours yet?”

Johanssen shakes her head. “I want to but - I don’t know. Scared I guess? I know Mark, he won’t be angry, or anything, but-” She shrugs as she breaks off. “Silly.”

“Mark will just insult us, crack a joke and maybe throw in a strained metaphor or pun if we’re really unlucky.”

“Maybe he’s got really deep - near death experiences change people.”

“Okay, if Watney waxes philosophical I will eat my hat.”

It’s weak, but it gets a small laugh out of her, so Chris is counting it as a win. He’s not as good at this at Watney or Martinez, but his bedside manner was never terrible.

“You should read yours,” Johanssen says, standing up suddenly.

“Hey,” Chris says, and steps towards her, pulling her into a hug. Her fingers clench in his sweatshirt.

“He’ll get home,” he whispers. Johanssen's head moves against his chest. He’s pretty sure it’s a nod. He rests his cheek against the top of her head. Her hair smells like NASA’s brand of shampoo; clean and generic. He lets out a breath, ruffling the strands that are loose in the ponytail. Johanssen pulls away, looking up at him. Chris takes a breath, opening his mouth to say something about cameras everywhere, terrible timing, and Mark. She kisses him on the cheek gently.

“Thanks,” she whispers, then leaves his room.

Chris closes his mouth.

~~~ 

 

> Beck,
> 
> Hey man. Dr Shields says I need to write to all the crew. I assume they’ll read the letters first to make sure I’m not calling you bastards for abandoning me, but other than that I can ignore social norms.
> 
> Bearing that in mind, I have to say…dude…you need to tell Johanssen how you feel. If you don’t, you’ll regret it forever. I won’t lie: It could end badly. I have no idea what she thinks of you. Or of anything. She’s weird.
> 
> But wait till the mission’s over. You’re on a ship with her for another two months. Also, if you guys got up to anything while the mission was in progress, Lewis would kill you. 
> 
> I could do with you here, man. My back is a bit fucked. I’m treating it alright, but you’ll probably give me grief over it when I get back. Fair warning.
> 
> Mark

~~~ 

 

> Watney,
> 
> Fucks sake, man. Can’t leave you alone for a second, can I? Tell me you’re using the painkillers properly, at least.
> 
> Listen man, I’m sorry for leaving you. I shouldn’t -

 

Chris stands up, walks away from his desk. He should tell Mark, Mark deserves to know how much he was to blame. He sits back down.

 

> I told the Commander to leave you. She wanted to search more. She might have found you, Mark.
> 
> I’m sorry.
> 
> Beck

~~~

 

> Beck,
> 
> I know you’re not an idiot. You and the commander saved everyone’s lives.
> 
> Watney

 

Mark types furiously. He wants to punch his crew through the screen of his computer until they stop apologising and talk to him about literally anything else than his current situation and how shit it is. He needs - he sends the message, stands up and picks up a blanket, wrapping it around his shoulders.  

He opens an email from Martinez.

 

> Mark,
> 
> The crew says hi. JPL seems to be making progress on your rescue, so we should be seeing you soon. Which is great because plants are boring as shit, man.
> 
> Listen, it sucks being here not being able to help you. I hope these messages are at least keeping you going. We’ll be seeing you soon, man, and I’m pretty sure we all want to buy you a drink. You’re a lightweight though, so I might just buy you coffee and aspirin for the morning after. 
> 
> Keep safe,  
> 
> Rick

 

“I’m gonna hold you to that coffee, you bastard,” Mark whispers, throat tight. “Absolute bastard.”

He closes the message and rubs a hand over his eyes. He needed to check the water reclaimer. Mark grips the blanket, and carries it over to the water reclaimer with him. The water reclaimer is fine - doing its job like a champ. Which is good; water, pretty important to life, both botanical and humanoid.

Last job of the day checked off, Mark returns to Three’s Company, still clinging to his blanket.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, firstly, I've got a mix of book and movie canon, though this is mostly book to be honest. Some of the dialogue is from the book. Secondly, after this chapter I am firmly in post-canon, free to do what I like territory :D
> 
> Unbeta'd, feel free to point out issues if you catch them!

His days have a disturbing familiarity. Charge the solar panels, eat, check his machines, eat, avert crisis, eat, watch tv, sleep. Wake up, repeat the above. Humans: creatures of habit even when in extraordinary circumstances. 

Sitting in the Rover for over three months is actually the worst. Mark spends more time dozing outside while charging the solar panels than sleeping in the bed he jerry-rigged himself. 

He makes a log every day he can - a concrete way of saying he’s done this many days, this many kilometers. 

Eating the meal he’d saved for halfway through his journey is one of the happiest moments of his life; rehydrated food after raw potatoes for a month is a revelation.

He really misses talking to people. He really hopes the crew are still gonna come pick him up. He hopes he can make it, can modify the MAV, can survive take-off.

One things at a time, he chides himself, and checks the solar panels.

~~~

Chris looks out of the airlock window. _We meet again so soon, Mars,_ he thinks.  
“Didn’t think I’d be back here again,” he says out loud. 

“Yes,” Vogel replies. “We are the first.”

“First what?”

“We are the first to visit Mars twice.”

“Oh yeah. Even Watney can’t say that.” Chris is definitely going to use that fact when Mark gets too obnoxious.

“He cannot.”

“Vogel,” Beck says, taking a breath. 

“Ja.”

“If I can’t reach Mark, I want you to release my tether.”

“The commander has already said no to this,” Vogel says. 

“I have an MMU, I can get back to the airlock. I’m not leaving without Mark,” Chris says, over Vogel’s half-formed argument.

“You are not the commander,” Vogel says simply.

Chris closes his eyes. “If it comes down to it; I bet you’ll change your mind.” He tells himself this, because the idea of Mark literally slipping past his fingers is too much to bear. 

He turns back to the window, facing away from Vogel.

~~~

Mark’s barely regained consciousness when he realises that his modification did not go well, and that they’re going to miss each other.

Luckily, he has a plan.

“I admit it’s fatally dangerous,” Watney said. “But consider this: I’d get to fly around like Iron Man.”

“Standby,” Lewis responds and cuts the connection.

“Like I can do anything else,” Mark replies, under his breath. He winces as he jostles his broken ribs. _Fucking Mars_ , he thinks.

~~~

Beth sits at her computer, tapping away furiously. She ran the numbers again and again. They were too far away. And if they weren’t too far away, they’d be going too fast. There must be a way, but she wasn’t seeing it at the moment. 

They can’t lose Mark again.

She has a flashback to seeing Mark get thrown away from her by the storm on Mars, her arms just not long enough to save him. She feels her eyes burn as she racks her brains. _Keep it together, Beth, come on._

Martinez is next to her, still muttering about Iron Man as he brings up Vogel’s console. 

“A breach at the VAL, with the bridge and reactor room sealed off, would accelerate us twenty-nine meters per second.”

Beth does the math. Holy shit. “We’d have a relative velocity of thirteen meters per second afterward.”

“Beck, you hearing this?”

“Affirmative,” Beck replies.

“Is it doable?”

Beth holds her breath.

~~~

 _Thirteen metres per second_ , Beck thinks. He shakes his head. Vogel frowns at him.

“Well, it’s a hell of a lot better than forty-two, but it’s risky,” he replies. He wasn’t going to say no, was he?

“Vogel, I need you to come back in and make a bomb.”

“Commander?” Vogel asks, looking as confused and shocked as Chris feels. A bomb?

“A bomb, Vogel. You can make one with what we have on board?”

“Yes, Commander. But it is dangerous.”

“I am aware,” the commander replies, wryly. “Make it a small one. Just enough to blow a hole in the inner airlock door. As long as the air can get out, it doesn’t matter if the whole door gets blown or just part of it.”

“On my way,” Vogel says, heading back into the ship.

“Oh shit.” Beck looks up. “Can someone move my labrats? They’re in the bio lab - shouldn’t take much room, there’s only one cage.”

“Will do,” says Martinez.

“Beck,” Lewis breaks in. “Can you make your way along the hull?”

“Commander?”

“I want the outer door locked in the fully open position with the mechanical stopper in place to keep it from being trashed by the decompress. Don’t want to mess up the aerodynamics of the ship on the way back.”

Beck nods, the plan fully coming together in his mind. “You have to have someone in the airlock to do that,” he says. “And you can’t open the inner door if the outer door is locked open.”

“Right,” Lewis replies. “So I need you to come back inside, depressurize the VAL, and lock the outer door open. Then you’ll need to crawl along the hull to get back to Airlock two.”

Beck nods. “That I can do. On my way.”

“Copy.”

Beck heads back in and floats towards the VAL. Beth is there, working on the lighting panel.

“Hey,” he says, not wanting to shock her while she was working on the electronics. She raises a hand in greeting. He moves to float past her, but she grabs his arm. 

“Be careful crawling along the hull.” Her face tight. Beck wishes they had more time, that it wasn’t so rushed, so on the edge. He wants to tell her it will be fine, that they can do this. 

Instead he says, “be careful setting up the bomb.”

She kisses his faceplate then looks away, embarrassed. “That was stupid. Don’t tell anyone I did that.”

Beck blinks, heart pounding suddenly. He thinks vaguely that he needs to calm down or his monitor is going to set off alarm bells. He mostly wants to take his helmet and suit off, he can’t do anything here, like this.

“Don’t tell anyone I liked it,” he says back instead. Beth turns her head back, shocked, then smiles a bit. His own smile widens, and he moves back. 

“I’ve got to go. See you on the other side.”

Beck propels himself to the VAL. He tethers himself to the inside of the ship, and depressurizes the VAL. He focuses on the work in front of him, locking open the door. He needs to clear his mind if he’s going get Mark at the speed they’re going.

Beck hoists himself over the hull, trying to ignore the smudge Beth left on his helmet.

~~~

Vogel heads towards the kitchen. Sugar and oxygen, simple but incredibly effective, especially in zero-g. He finds a thick glass jar, and estimates the sugar as best he can. He drills a hole into the lid of the jar, and threads a wire through, before putting the lid on the jar.

He heads towards the lighting panel, where Johanssen is working. He holds the jar carefully. This is both incredibly dangerous and important; his team is depending on him to get Mark back, and his family is relying on him to get home safely.

Johanssen takes the jar off him, and wires it up to the panel.

“Excuse me,” he says. “I must go let Beck into airlock two.”

“Mm,” Beth replies, focused almost entirely on her work.

~~~

“Prepare for acceleration,” Lewis says. Beck and Vogel check their tethers, and brace themselves against the wall.

After a jerky few seconds of acceleration, they slowed to normal speed, and it was mission go. Beck barely thought about anything as he headed out of the ship towards the battered MAV, just focused on the job in front of him. Step one, get to the MAV.

He snags the MAV, and hauls himself inside.

“Visual on Watney!” His voice cracks a bit, but that’s understandable.

“Visual on Beck!” Watney's voice is just as shaky as Beck's feels. Beck snaps himself out of it.

“Come on,” Beck says, trying to help Watney up out of his seat.

“Hold on, you’re the first person I’ve seen in eighteen months.”

And Beck can’t even find it in him to joke at that sentiment.

“We’ve only got eleven seconds, let’s go.”

He gets his hands on Watney, and gets him out of the MAV. Mark is clearly having a moment, but they don’t have time. They can have a moment afterwards, when they aren’t floating in space. He can also tell Mark is injured, pain lining his thin face, especially when Vogel starts reeling them in.

~~~

The crew meet them in the airlock. Hugs in zero-g are hard, but the team manage it, wrapping arms around chunky suits. Beth squeezes Beck’s hand at one point, grinning madly at him. He grins back, remembering that kiss again. Beth turns to watch Martinez laugh at something Watney said. 

Beck looks at Watney and snaps into doctor mode, his elation tempered as he notices the pained way Mark’s holding himself, even while in zero-g; the obvious signs of weight-loss. He lets go of Beth’s hand and gently pushes his way to Watney.

“Hate to break up the party, but you need to be in sickbay,” he says.

Watney groans. “I did not miss you at all, Dr Bossy-Beck.” 

“I didn’t go into medicine to be liked,” Beck replies, but Lewis backs him up.

“Beck’s right, you need to be checked out. Johanssen, Martinez, we need to repressurize and check any damage our rescue plan caused. Vogel, we might need you to EVA to survey the damage.” 

“Back to work,” Martinez grumbled. “I’ll come visit you later, see if we’ve got any grapes on board.”

“I expect them peeled,” Watney replies. Beck is elated that Watney still has his quick wit. If nothing else, it’s a sign that his brain is still functioning at a higher level, so his malnourishment couldn’t be too bad.

“You go limp, I’ll get you to sickbay.”

“Yeah, and get Mark into a shower,” Martinez says, smacking Mark on the shoulder. 

Mark grumbles as Beck pulls him out of the air lock. Beck guides his floating body gently towards his quarters.

~~~

“Okay, we’re pressurized again, sit down.”

“Can I take the suit off?” Mark asks. The suit is heavy in normal gravity and is making his chest hurt.

“Not yet, let me get my suit off first, then I’ll help with yours. Don’t think I’ve not noticed your ribs.”

Mark sits on the bed and tries not to watch Beck get undressed too closely. Chris drops his suit to one side, leaving his jumpsuit on. Then he helps Watney out of his suit, which is not fun. Though overall, there’s less pressure on his bones once he’s out of the suit, the pain and exertion leave him sweating and shaking.

Beck wrinkles his nose.“So, when was the last time you showered? Or washed?”

“A long time ago, man,” Watney replies, sitting back down and groaning.

“Okay. Have you taken any painkillers today?”

“No, doc.”

“You eat breakfast?”

“I had a full meal before leaving.”

“Okay, the good stuff for you, then.” Beck turns and gets painkillers and water. Watney takes them off him, swallowing the pills and gulping at the water a bit.

“Easy, easy.”

“Sorry,” Mark says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“So, how you feeling?” Chris asks. Mark snorts, trying not to laugh. He had a feeling it would end up ugly. He bites his lip, swallows, and nods. 

“Great, considering. I mean, apart from the whole cracked rib thing, I’m as healthy as can be expected.”

Chris frowns and puts on some latex gloves. “Okay, let’s take a look.”

Mark starts lifting his arms up but his ribs and shoulders complain loudly. 

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” he says. 

“I don’t think this can be salvaged, to be honest. Even if we get it off in one piece I think incineration is the only possible option. I’ll just cut it off. We’ve got spares.” He picks up a pair of scissors and cuts the shirt off. “Jesus, Mark.”

Mark looks down at his chest. Yeah, between the bruises, the dirt, and the fact that his ribs are pressing, stark against his skin, he looks a mess.

Beck starts at his shoulders, pressing fingers against his skin. Mark tries to sit still, but he’d not had human contact in over a year, and apparently, he’d forgotten what it felt like. He hadn’t really been expecting this. 

Mark can tell the moment Chris reaches his half-assed self-surgery attempt. 

“Hmm,” he says quietly. “Edges are ragged, but not bad considering you did the stitches yourself. Healed well enough.” 

Mark looks at the weird knot of scar tissue. He’s not really thought about it - he’d had too many things to think about and he’d not exactly wandered around topless. It’s pretty ugly. 

Chris presses down on it, feeling the scar tissue. Chris is - well he has a lot of _intent_ , obviously, everything is deliberate and deliberated. Chris has a mission and that mission is, him, actually. 

Mark watches Chris’ hands moving, brain still a little fascinated by feeling hands against his skin and them not being _his_ hands. There is nothing about this that’s normal. 

Beck isn’t noticing his freak out, which is good, because he’s not sure he could process this out loud in any way that made sense. He can barely do that internally.

Gooseflesh breaks out on his skin, and he shivers. 

“You okay? I can turn the heating up,” Chris says, moving away. Mark shakes his head. 

“I’m fine.” He manages to not pull Beck’s hands back. He’s trying really hard not to make this weird. Though, he thinks, given the past year, he can be forgiven for weird.

Chris watches him as he starts examining his ribs. 

“This might hurt.”

Mark blows out a breath as Beck starts palpating his ribs. 

“Yeah, looks like you’ve cracked two ribs. We’ll strap it up when you’re cleaned up. Lie down for me.”

Beck helps Mark lower himself onto the bed. He starts tapping on Mark’s lungs, his liver, feeling his spleen. Mark focuses on breathing evenly.

Chris’ hands feel weird. Marks tries to figure out if it’s weird because he hasn’t been touched for over a year by anyone other than himself and even then it’s not like he spent time pressing fingers against his own skin, especially in the careful, precise manner that Beck was doing right now. After a year of being alone, this much attention - Mark hiccups a breath, then blinks. 

Chris looks at him questioningly, hands paused, poised to lift them off him. Mark shakes his head and Chris slowly goes back to examining him. Mark forces himself to relax. 

Or, he thinks, is it weird because Chris is wearing latex gloves and that always feels oddly dry but slick, and warm. 

It’s probably the gloves, right?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for details on the food issues that are mentioned in this chapter.

Chris gives Mark full-ish bill of health. Nothing that some painkillers, rest, and full rations won’t fix, physically anyway. So Chris pushes him into a shower.

“Take your time,” he advises. “No need to ration the soap.” 

“Fuck you,” Mark replies, wincing as he stands. Chris moves to help him. 

“There should be a towel in there. I’ll grab you some clothes. You gonna be okay?”

“I’ll manage, Doc McHandsy.” Mark waves him off, and walks gingerly to the bathroom. “Thanks, Chris,” Mark says, softly from the doorway.

“Any time,” he replies, equally softly. 

Mark closes the door behind him.

Chris doesn’t want to leave Mark alone - both as a doctor and a friend it seems...risky. He’s also willing to bet Mark won’t want to wander around Hermes in a towel though. They’re almost the same height, and Mark’s lost a lot of weight, so in theory his clothes should fit Mark, just til they get to his quarters.

Mark’s done worse, he thinks, as he pulls a set of NASA-branded sweatpants out of his drawer. He hesitates before picking up a teeshirt, then picks up a zipped hooded jacket instead. 

He sits at his desk and starts typing up his report for NASA - they’ll be screaming for an update if he doesn’t send one soon. He’s got a preliminary report sent to Lewis, with a longer one to follow when he’s got Mark fed and lying down when he hears the shower shut off.

“Hot water is actually the best thing ever.” Mark steps out of the bathroom, rubbing a towel on wet hair. Now he’s clean the bruises stand out even more against his skin, the patch over his broken ribs a particularly vivid red. 

“You always were a man of simple needs,” Chris says, instead of wincing. Mark spots the clothes but doesn’t say a word, just starts dressing. He stares at the jacket. 

“Do you need to wrap my ribs?”

“Nah, you just get lots of painkillers, and try breathe normally, even though it hurts. Let me help you put your jacket on. It should be easier than putting a teeshirt on, but still might be a little painful.”

“Might, he says,” Mark mumbles, bringing the jacket over to Chris. They manage to get his arms in the sleeves with only a small amount of cursing from Mark.

“I want you to stay here for observation. We can grab you some clothes and stuff. Should only be for a few days.”

“Okie-doke, roomie. Food first?” Mark asks.

“Food first,” Chris agrees. “Lead the way, assuming you can remember.”

“Asshole,” Mark mutters as he leaves sickbay.

~~~

Beth is in the mess when they get there. She stands up when they enter, smiling. 

“Hey Johanssen,” Mark says, pulling her into a one armed hug. Beth pulls him close and squeezes him until he grunts, bending over a little in pain. Chris jumps into help - Beth’s hugs can be lethal at the best of times. She leaps back, hand over her mouth.

“Oh shit, did I hurt you?”

“He’s got a couple of cracked ribs,” Chris says, taking Mark’s arm, straightening him up gently.. Beth takes his other arm and they sit him down at the table.

“Sorry, Mark,” Beth says, squeezing Mark’s hand instead. 

“It’s fine, you didn’t know.”

“Food,” Chris mutters, and stands up. He casts an eye over the meals - they’re all engineered to be nutritional, but Chris still wants to monitor what Mark’s eating. He needs something hearty but not too rich. He settles on pasta, because that seems safe without being too boring. And wasn’t potatoes. 

Mark takes it off him and takes a mouthful. He closes his eyes and makes a soft noise of joy.

“This is so good.”

“Better than potatoes?” Beth asks.

“Johannsson, I was eating raw potatoes on the way to the MAV.”

“Raw?” Beth asks, incredulously. Chris shudders. 

“The Rover doesn’t come with a microwave,” Mark says through a mouthful. Chris lays a hand on his arm. 

“Slow down a bit, man, your stomach isn’t used to this.”

Mark nods, and takes a drink of water.

“You guys gonna eat or watch me?”

“They’re not mutually exclusive. I can eat and watch you like a creeper,” Beth says, getting herself some food. “Beck?”

“The chicken, please.”

~~~

Warm, tasty food that contains no potatoes. Mark suddenly finds that he is a man of simple pleasures. 

One by one the crew filter into the mess, sitting around the table, eating together. 

The conversation mostly flows over him, and he focuses on eating slowly. He can barely finish half his meal. He is full, and is starting to feel nauseous. He really should stop eating.

“You’re stomach’s shrunk. You’ll have to take it slowly,” Chris says.

“The food’s really nice though,” Mark whines. He puts his fork down. Then he picks it up again. He really shouldn’t leave the food, it needs to last him until tomorrow, ideally - except it doesn’t. He doesn’t need to eat the food just because it’s there in front of him. He can afford to leave leftovers now. 

“We have more. We called for delivery before we swung round to get you,” Lewis says. 

“Waste,” he murmurs. He could compost it, but he isn’t growing anything on Hermes, so he doesn’t need compost. He could leave it for later? Storing it would be awkward, but maybe he could reseal the package - duct tape fixes everything, after all. He looks at the remains of his meal.

His stomach is uncomfortably full. He drops the fork.

“You can reuse it when we get to earth, make more potatoes,” Martinez says as Chris takes the plate and dumps the food into the organic waste. Mark nods, feeling a little better now the decision has been made for him.

There was a lull as everyone ate their own food. 

“Hey, how are my plants?” Mark asks, desperate for conversation that’s not around his recovery.

“Vogel’s been watching them.”

Vogel shrugs. “Plants seem stable. Not much growth. I took notes, I’m hoping they’ll mean something to you; me, not so much.”

Mark nods. He needs to get back on the roster, and using his notes from Mars to augment his work in space. He’s hoping he can get a clear from Beck soon to at least start part time roster. JPL have some of the notes he’d made - they were one of the first and last things he’d sent via email; so he should be able to get them now and see what he can do now he’s got time and space. 

He realises abruptly that people are staring at him. He’d mostly forgotten that he was still around other people...which yeah. That can’t look good.

He opens his mouth, preparing to say something - he wasn’t sure what he was going to let his brain ad-lib, it generally goes okay for him-

“You okay? Need to lie down?” Beck asks, putting his hand on Mark’s shoulder and rubbing a thumb along the hollow under his clavicle.

“Yeah,” Mark says. “Maybe.” He is tired, and if he thinks about it, his ribs are aching.

There’s a moment of silence as Mark stands up, picks up his water bottle.

“Get some rest, man. We’re only going to cover for your science schedule for so long then you need to start pulling your weight again.”

“I thought you said I didn’t do anything?” Mark says, “Don’t worry, I’ll save you from the complex plants soon enough, Martinez.”

Its like before, almost. If he ignores the wrinkles of worry between everyone’s eyebrows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some eating issues around waste here - Mark doesn't want to waste food, but his stomach isn't quite up to whole portions.


	4. Chapter 4

Beck follows him, because obviously. Mark both wants him to go away and not. He feels hot with embarrassment, and nauseated, and he’s not sure if that’s the food or the shame. He doesn’t say anything, just walks to ‘sickbay’, and palms open the door.

He drops the water bottle on the bed, and sits down.

“Well, that was embarrassing.”

Beck sits next to him, close enough that their shoulders bump slightly.

“Probably about on par with that night -”

“We swore not to talk about that night,” Mark cuts him off. “Fucking food. Of all the things to trip me up.”

“Well, I could go all psychology 101 on you, but that’s Irene’s job. I think it would be weirder if something like that didn’t screw you over a little.”

Mark makes a noncommittal noise, rolling the bottle between his hands.

“I just thought I’d - be fine. I tried so hard to keep on top of everything.”

“Well that was stupid,” Beck replies.

“So’s your face.” Mark scrubs a hand over his face, wincing when it pulls his ribs.

“Careful, careful,” Beck says, hand on Mark’s shoulder, lowering his arm gently. “You need any more painkillers?”

Mark thinks about refusing for a moment, but he’s tired and sore, and okay, yeah.

“Yeah, I’m about due a dosage.”

Beck gets up and brings him the bottle of drugs and some vitamins. Mark takes them both, scrunching up his face as he adds water to his full stomach.

“Ugh, I might need to lie down.”

Beck stands up, takes the water off him, and helps Mark lie down. Mark leans in a little. Beck’s hands are cool, and he’s still feeling over heated.

“You want a bedtime story?”

“I regret knowing you every day.”

Beck sits next to him, and Mark shifts his legs to make room.

“Hey, you remember Jody? Dark hair, short?”

Mark frowns. “From astrophysics? Beth’s friend?”

“That’s the one. She finally got with Hasan.”

“Holy shit, that literally took years.”

“They were in training,” Beck replies, shrugging. 

Mark lets his eyes close as Beck recounts them getting together, third hand from Beth. He's not sure when he falls asleep.

~~~

_There’s a breach in the RTG. There’s a breach in the RTG and Mark can’t find his helmet, so he can’t escape and the heat of the radiation is starting to burn his skin and-_

Mark sits up, panting, rushing to get the burning suit off him and find a spare. He rolls out of bed, gasping as he hits the floor, back first.

“Mark? Mark?”

Mark closes his eyes against the sudden light, and then Chris is by his side, out of nowhere.

“‘m okay. Okay,” Mark mumbles. “Sorry.” His back is killing him, and his head hurts, eyes stinging from the sudden unexpected light after a deep sleep.

“Let’s get you up,” Chris says, shifting to help him.

“Hold on a second,” Mark says, blinking until everything coalesces and makes sense. Chris’ face is tight, worried, and Mark gives a small smile, hoping to reassure him. “Okay, I’m good.”

Chris slings an arm around Mark, and steadies him as he pulls Mark up. Mark winces as his ribs pull, and drops gratefully to the bed as soon as he’s on his feet.

“Okay, I’ll need to check you out.”

“I fell less than a foot.”

“Humor me, please.”

Mark looks at Chris who’s hands are still on Mark’s arms, and nods.

Chris lifts up Mark’s shirt, and presses against his ribs gently. Mark focuses on breathing. He grips the ruffled sheets because he knows the adrenaline is making his hands shake. He’s not sure if Chris is helping with that, actually, but maybe exposure therapy is what he needs.

“That hurt?” Chris asks, quietly.

“No more than I expect,” Mark replies, equally quietly. Chris makes a noise in his throat and nods.

“Okay, they’ll be sore, but your lungs seem fine.”

“I know,” Mark replies. Chris’ hand is still on his chest, warm. Mark’s heart is thumping, but that’s probably the fall, the nightmare, the being winded, all that jazz.

“I should let you get some sleep. I’ll ask the Commander if you can use some spares to make yourself a cot tomorrow morning.”

“Dick.”

~~~

> JPL: Good morning, Mark.
> 
> Mark: Morning, Irene
> 
> JPL: Did you sleep well?

 Mark rests his fingers against the keyboard. He lets out an angry noise, and then types.

> Mark: I had a rough night.
> 
> JPL: In what way?
> 
> Mark: I had a nightmare, because I am 5 years old

 

Weak, Watney. _Weak_

 

> JPL: It’s not unusual to have nightmares after such a long, drawn out traumatic experience. Do you want to talk about it?
> 
> Mark: It was a fairly obvious nightmare - I was in the rover, there was a leak in the RTG, I couldn’t escape. I don’t think I need to get your expert opinion.
> 
> JPL: Yes, you’re right, the meaning seems obvious, but it wouldn’t necessarily be a waste of time discussing it. You’ve still got a long journey ahead of you; your mind is still prepared for danger.
> 
> Mark: I suppose. I’m still not on a proper work schedule, so none of this feels real. I’m not being an astronaut, I’m not being a botanist. I’m not doing anything.
> 
> JPL: You need to recover, but it may be worth getting you something to do. You sent us all your notes. I can see if we can send those over to you, so you can start reviewing and incorporating them into the work you’ve done previously?
> 
> Mark: That would be amazing
> 
> JPL: I can’t promise anything, but if it will help your recovery, I’ll see what I can do. Let me talk to the doctors here, and to Dr Beck - they’ll have the final veto if they feel it would hinder your physical recovery. I’ll send you a message either way.

Mark spends the rest of the day focusing on something that isn’t himself, and he feels great. He only hopes that he can get back on the roster. He stands up, far too quickly, and gets a sharp pain in his ribs in response. He needs to be clever if he’s going to get back into the lab full time any time soon.

~~~

Mark walks into his lab. Vogel is peering into a growth chamber and making notes. Mark’s fingers itch. This is his domain, not that of a _chemist_.

“How’s it going?”

“Mark, I wasn’t aware Dr Beck gave you the all clear to come back to work?” Vogel looks up from his notes, and closes the growth chamber.

“He hasn’t, I’m just really bored. Thought I’d come and be nosey.”

Vogel opens his mouth, but Mark raises a hand to stop him. “Not going to interfere, just watch, Plus it’s been a while, it’d be good to start looking over your notes.”

Vogel pauses, but nods. “I admit, I don’t find your work compelling.”

“And I much prefer my less dangerous work to yours. There may have been an explosion or two trying to feed and water myself.”

Vogel’s eyebrows lift. “Explosions?”

Mark pulls up a stool. Vogel brings up his notes on a laptop, and puts it in front of Mark.

“Well, it all started when I tried to make water,” Mark says.

The afternoon flies by. Vogel gives him some pointers on what he’d missed; useless now, but interesting nonetheless.

Mark made notes on Vogel’s notes. They’re occasionally punctuated by notes by the others, but Vogel did most of the work. He had made good notes, solid, with some hypotheses and deeper investigation, but Mark knows he could do more - no offence intended to any of his crew mates.

He brought the laptop to the mess when Vogel wrapped up that day’s worked. He absent-mindedly shovelled food into his mouth, ignoring the increasing conversation levels around him.

“My mother would say that it’s good to see you eat,” Lewis said as she sat down next to him. “Get some meat back on your bones.”

“Bwa?” Mark looked up from his laptop.

“Your stomach seems to be back up to full size.”

“Oh yeah, definitely. Food is amazing. I may even have something with mashed potatoes soon.” Mark gestured with his fork.

“Woah, there, kiddo.” Lewis put a hand to her chest in fake-shock.

“I like to live on the edge.”

Lewis smiles at him. Really smiles at him, and Mark can’t help but smile back. She looks down, then looks back up to the crew as a whole.

“NASA is really cashing in on this mission, they’re talking about press tours. We’ve also had interview requests - Mark mostly, of course, but a few for all of us as a group.”

“Nice, time to start practicing my autograph,” Martinez replies. Beth rolls her eyes next to him, and he nudges her. “Please, you were the most popular of all of us, Johansson; you should practice, too.”

“We’ll have to show our faces at a couple of them - and we can probably do some while we’re up here, take some of the pressure off us when we get back, but we don’t have to do anything we’re uncomfortable with. Especially you,” she says quietly, to Mark.

Mark shrugs. “Everything NASA got from Mars has had to go public. Be good to get my side out there a bit.”

Lewis nods. “I’ll be sending out a few of the requests in the next day. Any issues, just let me know, we’ll field them.”

~~~

“So, Irene sent me a message.” Chris says as he walks into the plant lab. Mark looks up from the laptop. He looks far too hopeful.

“She mentioned she would.”

“I can’t okay a full roster, your ribs need more time. They’re gonna take longer to heal out here - maybe the full six weeks.” Chris pauses. “Also, you’re still recovering. You should be resting.”

Mark rolls his eyes

“Part time - less than half the roster -” Chris says over Mark’s triumphant noise.

He’s going to push it, Beck knows, and Mark knows that Chris knows. Chris is just going to have to be strict with him.

“I don’t want you sitting still for too long, and I want you to keep taking your painkillers regularly. Let me know if you’re taking any sort of long experiment, and I want daily check ins.”

“Holy shit, anything else while you’re at it, Commander?”

“Please, the Commander would be way stricter than me.”

“Fair point. Alright, I agree to your demands. Now, I’m going to get back to my notes. Going to take me a good week or so to catch up.”

“I’ll let Vogel know he’s not free of the plants just yet.”

Mark groans softly as Chris leaves.  
He finds Vogel in his quarters.

“Doctor, how may I help?”

“It’s about Mark.” Vogel steps back, and lets Chris in. The bed was still unmade, because all the training NASA could buy could not get Vogel to tidy up his quarters after himself. He was meticulous everywhere else, but in his quarters? All bets were off.

“Is Watney okay?”

“He is, he’s recovering well. He’s going to be back on a part time science roster, well, less than part time if I can help it. Are you still able to cover his day to day work while he both gets up to speed and recovers?”

“Of course,” Vogel replies. “I will make sure he doesn’t spend too long talking to his plants.”

“Thanks.”

“He’s going to hate us conspiring like this,” Vogel says, shaking his head.

“I think he’ll have missed it.”


End file.
